


Burn-Related Drabbles

by herbailiwick



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Burns, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One person gets burned and the other person takes care of them *irony upon irony* Fluffy with kisses :D"</p><p> Here's a Johnlock, a Martlas (<em>Cabin Pressure</em>), and a Mystrade (with a different type of burn).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn-Related Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meowbowwow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowbowwow/gifts).



John heard the cry, the curse, and the fumbling around from upstairs. Even though Sherlock had accidents fairly often, he didn't usually do anything except mutter under his breath. John recognized a cry of pain when he heard one.

He came downstairs to see Sherlock fumbling at the tap and doing the familiar muttering. John walked over to help him make the water cold. "Burn yourself?" he asked with concern.

Sherlock glanced over at him, nodding slowly. There were unshed tears in Sherlock's eyes. 

John coaxed Sherlock's hands under the water. "Go on and stop the burning," he encouraged. "Is there anything that needs seeing to, like the cause of the burn?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I took care of it." He cursed again, lowering his head. He still ran his hands, especially his fingertips, under the water. John gently rested a hand on his back. 

"Well, be more careful next time," John said softly. "You have nice hands. Keep 'em that way."

Sherlock flushed and stared at his hands, at the water as it fell over them. "Okay," he agreed.

When Sherlock nodded to the tap and said, "I think we're okay on the cooling," John turned off the water. 

"I'm getting you a paracetamol and the aloe vera. Any objections?"

"None," Sherlock said, making his way to the armchair and sitting down. He looked at John curiously as John hand fed him the pill and tipped the cup for him. "You know, I probably could have done that," he said with a hint of suspicion.

John froze. "Oh. No, you're probably right."

"It's alright, John," Sherlock said quickly. "I'm not upset. You're free to offer to go above and beyond for me. I like it, actually. I like to worry you, just a bit."

"Was this on purpose?!" John stared at Sherlock.

Sherlock suddenly shut down. He bowed his head. John, wary that it might mean Sherlock had indeed burned himself on purpose, set about opening the aloe vera. "Hands," he ordered. 

Sherlock slowly offered his hands, but didn't look up. John started to work the aloe into them. "This should help," he said. 

Sherlock shivered pleasantly at the sensation of John soothing his burns with the aloe. Finally, he said, still avoiding eye-contact, "Is that what you really think of me, John?" His voice was low, careful. "In your picture of me, would I do that?"

John paused, taking Sherlock's hands in his for a moment. "Sherlock?" he said. He waited until Sherlock finally looked up. "Sherlock, I don't think you would, no. I mean, I wouldn't put it completely past you, but you sounded like you were in real pain. I rushed to help, if you'll recall."

"Of course you did. Ex-army doctor."

"And your friend. Don't forget that part."

Sherlock stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, "You've stopped."

John looked down at his hands, small and tan compared to Sherlock's large, enticing pair. "I really do love your hands," John said carefully. 

Sherlock surged up and forward just a bit, pressing his lips to John's, pulling away to gauge his reaction after lingering for a moment. John stared at him blankly for long enough that he wriggled his burnt fingers out of John's grasp.

John reached out, leaning in, offering his hands for Sherlock to hold again if he wished. "I want to kiss you again," he said softly. "Only if you want to."

With an unaccountably open expression, Sherlock asked, "Will you burn me?"

"If I do, let me know. I'll get the aloe vera," John teased, but with enough sincerity that Sherlock deemed the answer sufficient.

"Then come and bring me your spark," Sherlock murmured.

*** 

"Nonsense. I'm going to be fine," Douglas huffed, somehow looking rather put together and at ease, despite the trepidation in his eyes and the fact he was in a hospital bed.

Martin had tears in his eyes. "I was so worried," he blurted out. "When I'd heard.... I mean, thank God you're okay," he said quickly. "You are...okay?"

"Better now that I've got company," Douglas admitted, looking round at the MJN crew, glancing at the macaroni collage Arthur put together for him, at Carolyn's practical (and cheap) card, at Martin's slightly dog-eared note of support.

"When I heard about the fire, when...I was...I mean, we all could have lost you!" Martin said, voice edging on panic.

"True," Douglas said, forcing his voice to stay calm. "That's very true. But, you didn't. I'm still here."

"In hospital," Martin choked.

"Yes. Right now, there's no place I'd rather be," Douglas said wryly. "They are, after all, the experts." He noted Martin's tears starting to fall. "Martin," he said gently, "I really am alright." He offered his hand, bandaged a bit as the burns healed. "Here."

Martin stood and took the hand carefully, looking at the hand, afraid of hurting Douglas. "I, er. Douglas," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I need to. There are things I was afraid I'd never get to...." He bit his lip.

Douglas looked up at Martin in surprise. "I thought about you," he admitted. "All of you, but especially you, Martin. I was in danger of not getting out, and I thought of you. Is that...what you mean?"

Martin reached up with his other hand, cradling the bandaged one between both of them. "Yes! Exactly. I need to say. I mean, it's embarrassing, but I need to say...that my life wouldn't be the same without you, and that...and that I care about you, maybe too much. I'm so glad you're alive." He sighed, closing his eyes, another tear falling.

"Martin, do me a favor."

Martin's eyes snapped open. "Do you need the bed adjusted? Should I call the nurse? What is it, what?"

Douglas quirked his lip. "Nothing so involved. Just, come, lean over me a bit, yeah? And I'll rise up a bit, and...."

"Oh," Martin breathed against Douglas's lips, and then they were kissing, and Arthur gasped and cheered and Carolyn announced that she'd left something important in the car and she needed Arthur's help to fetch it.

And Martin looked dazzled when Douglas lay back against the pillows again. "Was that to your liking, sir?" Douglas murmured.

Martin gaped, staring down at him. "A-are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"A bit, if you don't say you liked it," Douglas teased.

"I...I did," admitted Martin. "B-but don't hurt yourself, or e-exhaust yourself, or."

"I love you," Douglas said firmly, looking at him. 

Martin went quiet, just staring, at a loss but looking very touched and overwhelmed.

"Thank God for near-death experiences," Douglas said. He nodded to the telly remote. "Put something on, will you? Maybe it'll help settle your nerves, Captain Crieff."

***

Greg buried his face in Mycroft's shoulder, sobbing into the fabric of the expensive suit, and Greg didn't notice that he was dampening it, and Mycroft didn't say a thing about it, didn't really even care. 

Mycroft pat and rubbed at Greg's back warmly, soothing him. "Shhh," he said.

" _God_ , I'm a fucking mess," Greg sobbed, pulling away enough to speak, tears spilling down. "No wonder she...."

"No," Mycroft said, voice firm and just a bit harsh. Greg jumped slightly to hear it, looking up questioningly. "Don't you dare let her cause you to think less of yourself. She's unfaithful because that's her choice."

Greg sighed, chuckled a bit, wiped at his face with his own sleeve. "True, that's her choice. But it's not like I'm gonna find anyone else. Who'd want me?"

Mycroft looked absolutely stricken, staring at Greg wordlessly.

"What?" Greg asked with a nervous lick of his lips. "What is it?"

"Anyone with half a brain would be perfectly happy to have you."

Greg frowned at his friend a bit. "My?"

Mycroft reached out, pulling Greg against him again. "Sorry. Ignore me. This is about you," he said smoothly, rubbing at Greg's back again. 

He nuzzled a bit. "You really care about me like that?"

Mycroft paused, movements slowing, considering his words. "Yes," he finally said.

Greg pulled away, noting the disappointment and fear sitting in Mycroft's eyes, painted across his face. "So, you wouldn't mind if...if I gave you a snot-filled kiss?" he said.

"I'm not a fan of snot," Mycroft pointed out. Seeing the disappointment in Greg's eyes, he smiled softly. "But, Greg, there's always this." He handed over the handkerchief he'd had in his hand and hadn't had time to offer before Greg had been sobbing into him.

Greg blew his nose and wiped his eyes, smiling when he received a kiss to the cheek that warmed his whole being. 

"She has no idea what she's taking for granted," Mycroft said. "She has no idea what kind of heart she's burnt time and again."

"The same goes for your ex," Greg said honestly.

Mycroft looked at him, touched, very surprised. "Thank you," he said. "Er...thank you."


End file.
